Monochrome
Those dreams I made for you...
He stared deeply into his palms. Blind. Amazed at how white blindness was, rather than the inky black he'd imagined behind closed eyes.
Sitting coiled amongst the rubble of some building, collapsed under the surge. Buried mostly by snow.
They never came true did they?
He was cut. Bruised. Could feel broken ribs protesting against his position but he couldn't move, that face imprinted in the whiteness that burnt into a headache so heavy he thought he might pass out.
Left on the edge of the world, to bloom as solitary testament.
I'm sorry, that I left you alone...
Because he thought he could do something. Anything. As he ran, the matching pairs for his feet and his heart left behind.
Dream them another existence he thought...
Dreams were thick around him, those left undreamt by the dead that laid so peacefully around him.
He couldn't see them, little more than afterthoughts and static flickerings, but he knew.
And ached.
He cried. Unable to see the black, black tears track down his face. Fall to hit the white, white snow that fell even at the end of the world and bleed into grey, grey, grey.
A world left in monochrome.
~_~ It seems to lack something but it's one of the companion pieces for this. >:
As soon as my portfolio and stuff are in. I am working on this comm. >:
Anyone up for a bit of Post Apocalyptic fun?
Undreamed is such a weird word. D:
Pity most of November is devoted to school work. >: I kinda wanna do NaNoWriMo
He stared deeply into his palms. Blind. Amazed at how white blindness was, rather than the inky black he'd imagined behind closed eyes.
Sitting coiled amongst the rubble of some building, collapsed under the surge. Buried mostly by snow.
They never came true did they?
He was cut. Bruised. Could feel broken ribs protesting against his position but he couldn't move, that face imprinted in the whiteness that burnt into a headache so heavy he thought he might pass out.
Left on the edge of the world, to bloom as solitary testament.
I'm sorry, that I left you alone...
Because he thought he could do something. Anything. As he ran, the matching pairs for his feet and his heart left behind.
Dream them another existence he thought...
Dreams were thick around him, those left undreamt by the dead that laid so peacefully around him.
He couldn't see them, little more than afterthoughts and static flickerings, but he knew.
And ached.
He cried. Unable to see the black, black tears track down his face. Fall to hit the white, white snow that fell even at the end of the world and bleed into grey, grey, grey.
A world left in monochrome.
~_~ It seems to lack something but it's one of the companion pieces for this. >:
As soon as my portfolio and stuff are in. I am working on this comm. >:
Anyone up for a bit of Post Apocalyptic fun?
Undreamed is such a weird word. D:
Pity most of November is devoted to school work. >: I kinda wanna do NaNoWriMo